


As Much Cloud as Rain

by Night-Mare (Aoife)



Series: Secondary Flames and Side Effects [2]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author loves to chat in the Comments, BAMF Daniela di Vongola, Flame Active Character(s), M/M, POV Superbi Squalo, Pre-Canon, Rainy Cloud Squalo, Stormy Sky Xanxus, Timoteo Vongola's A+ Parenting, Unconventional Uses for Dying Will Flames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-05 00:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11566182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoife/pseuds/Night-Mare
Summary: The 'sequel' toAlmost More Storm Than Sky. Squalo takes his place at Xanxus's side as his first Guardian.





	1. Chapter 1

The old Vongola Donna, Daniela - he should call her Ottava, but the moment Xanxus had introduced him to her as “Mine,” with bared teeth and and wildly flaring Flames, she’d thrown back her head and _laughed_ \- was far more 'attractive' than her son. If he hadn't wanted to follow Xanxus, he might even have been tempted.

“Of course he’s yours, silly boy.” Had been her words to Xanxus. He’d half expected his new Sky to attack her for the insult - he was the stronger of the two, age and lack of Guardians having sapped her strength - but there had just been a wild answering grin. “You’ve done well to catch yourself a Superbi; I wouldn’t dare poach him from you, my Stormling.”

“I didn’t catch him, Nona. He found _me_.” He had; Xanxus’s Rage at being contained, forced into formal clothes and paraded at the Ball had attracted his attention and now here he was.

“Even better.” The old Sky turned glowing orange eyes on him. “Hmm. Oh you are interesting little Superbi. What’s the Family naming convention for your generation?” Those eyes look into his soul and looks back; there are things there for him to see that he’s only seen before when he’s been about to kill a man with his sword - or in his own Sky’s eyes.

“Sea Life. I’m Squalo, ma’am.” The honorific slides from his tongue easily. There are few adults who he _choses_ to give them to, but she’s like her shitty-grandson; naturally compelling. He suspects that at the height of her strength she’d have been able to coax men into following her into hell if she’d wanted to.

“A predatory name; has my Stormling caught himself the heir or the spare, Squalo Superbi?” He swallows; he should have realised that she would know what the Family’s naming structure _meant_.

“‘Just’ the spare, ma’am.” She snorted, amused at his attempt at deprecation.

“What’s your obsession, Squalo? Other than my Stormling.” He eyes his shitty-Sky; the other teen was being weird again. The normally prickly Wrath Sky had dropped to the floor next to the chair his grandmother was sat in, and was leant against it; the old Donna’s hand was petting his hair gently and what the fuck? “I had a Superbi Cloud, Squalo; call me Daniela. You’re my favourite grandchild’s first Guardian.”

‘Oh.’ He had enough self control to not let that show on his face. He should have remembered that; his Family's Flame Users tended to be stronger-than-average, more often than not gravitated towards strong Skys when they were available - and Vongola Skies were invariably strong. He'd forgotten that, because there wasn’t a Superbi amongst the Ninth Generation Guardians; and he was the first one of his cousins to find a Sky that suited. “Becoming Sword Emperor, ma -” his shitty-Sky was bouncing a ball of almost pure Storm Flames in his hands, “- Daniela, ma’am.” He ducked just in time for the Storm Flames to hiss over his head.

“Xanxus, no trying to kill your Cloud.” His shitty-Sky humphed and settled back down to being petted. Cloud? He wasn’t a Cloud; he was a Rain. Most of his generation were; it was why their parents had gone with a Sea theme. And why was Xanxus allowing his grandmother to _pet_ him?

“Voooiii, Shitty-Boss?” He was flailing, which was the only excuse he had for allowing the profanity to slip past his filters in front of the old Donna. It earned him another ball of Storm Flames that he barely managed to dodge. What confused him even further was the old Donna’s response; she sighed and then there was the overwhelming pressure of Sky Flames. Not as strong as Xanxus’s own, but his Wrath-Sky still calmed, still let the Flames covering his hands fade to nothing and closed his eyes.

“Don’t disrespect _my_ Sky, Shark-trash.” His Sky’s eyes were still shut; the old Donna’s hand had returned to playing with his hair. The declaration didn’t make any sense; his confusion had to show on his face, because there was a soft sound of amusement from the old Mist who had been reading in the corner of the room.

“He’s not, Xanxus. His great-uncle was just as ridiculous, so we’re used to Superbi Clouds. Squalo, did your new Sky _actually_ explain anything before dragging you in here, or just tell you there was someone he wanted you to meet?”

“Voooiii. Shitty -” he ducked reflexively, and the old Donna swatted her grandson before he could throw the new ball of Flame, “- Boss just dragged me in here. Thought he was bringing me to the Don to tell him he had a new Guardian and organise me moving in.” The Mist snorted.

“Which of your enemies cursed you with grandchildren _just_ like you, Boss?” He blinked at the speed with which the crossbow appeared, and the Mist ducked, laughing.

“Nona, if I’m not allowed to kill my Superbi, you’re not allowed to kill your Falco.” His shitty-Boss’s eyes were shut again and his Sky’s Flames were reminding him of nothing so much as a large cat. “Part of what makes me a Wrath Sky, Shark-trash, is that I have two Primary Flames. Sky and Storm. Nona was the only safe place for me when the Ninth first dragged me out of the slums; she was a Sky with no Storm and I trusted her. We bonded.”

“And my idiot son still hasn’t noticed it.” Something didn’t add up. Closely related Flame Users _couldn’t_ bond; or so his lessons had insisted. He tucked that information away; he suspected that he’d figure it out later. “I’ll tell house-keeping to have the second Sky suite in this wing opened, Stormling. It’ll be entertaining to see how long it takes Timoteo to notice you’ve moved out of the ‘nursery’.” His shitty-Boss’s Flames flared in annoyance at the word. “Just remember that moving out of the nursery makes you fair game for your older ‘brothers’ -” the inflection on the word was strange, like the old Donna would prefer to use another word, “- attentions.” That sounded like a euphemism; what the hell had he gotten himself into? He didn’t even have Active Flames yet!


	2. Chapter 2

Next to Donna Daniela - his mind wouldn’t let him leave the honorific off of the old Sky’s name - Xanxus’s _other_ relatives, his brothers and his father are a _disappointment_. The old man is a control freak; he recognises the tendencies and if he’s a Rain, the old man is a Rainy Sky - or an Electric one. Obsessive, possessive; his Flames kept reaching out to him, trying to coax him into the old man’s Sky, despite the fact that the old man had a full set, he was his son’s Guardian and his latency. That latency meant that he was comparatively defenceless, but given his Sky's possessiveness, the traces of both Xanxus and Daniela’s Flames wrapped around him stop the attempts from sticking; it made him wonder what the fuck was going on. The constant attempts made him feel filthy, and if it hadn’t been for how tightly Xanxus’s Flames shielded him, he suspected it would have been worse. And that was without the other boys, Xanxus’s _brothers_ who looked at him like he was a piece of meat every time they came near him - but he was fairly sure that wasn’t personal, given that they looked at each other’s Guardians in the same way; he’d overheard several lewd proposals - and continued to do so until he attempted to stab Federico for suggesting that he’d have far more ‘fun’ as part of _his_ set rather than his bastard baby brother’s; there had been a leer in his voice, unmistakable, and he refused to be any Sky’s _toy_.

Enrico was the heir apparent. That was the only thing that had stopped him from threatening him in the same fashion as he had Federico; the fact that at least two of the heavy handed passes from Xanxus’s oldest brother imply that his Sky would be welcome to join in, too, just made him shudder. The Vongola didn’t need someone at the helm who thought the Roman Emperors were a fantastic set of role models; but he should probably get Xanxus’s permission before he took Enrico’s balls off with one of his practise swords. He doubted his Sky would be interested in sucking his older brother’s cock, or allowing the other Sky to ‘break’ him in.

The first evening meal he’s invited to degenerates into a battle - he’d call it a sparring match, but he was fairly sure that Enrico and Xanxus were seriously trying to kill each other - and it was only the fact that he was fast on his feet and his Sky could - and did - imbue things with his Flames on the fly that had allowed him to keep Massimo from launching a successful sneak attack, a tightly focused bolt of Sky Flames that might even have disrupted Xanxus’s bond to Daniela, given what he understood about bonds . And through all of it - despite the Flames being thrown around casually, the multiple lewd propositions absently thrown around like candy and the way Xanxus’s Rage only escalated - Timoteo sat like an emperor on his throne at the head of the table, enjoying the dinner entertainment. The only sign that _someone_ outside of him and his Sky understood this was _not_ how family was supposed to work was the long suffering looks on the faces of the Ninth’s Storm and Lightning. He was left wondering if Donna Daniela knew just how badly behaved everyone was in close proximity and _that_ was why she ate her meals in her suite with her Mist and Rain for company.

When the second evening meal went more smoothly, he started to relax, but the third and the fourth degenerated in similar ways, he decided he had had _enough_. Fuck it. He might not be Active yet, but there was something he could do, an option he had been contemplating, a valid reason for Xanxus to move out of the Iron Fort entirely; even without Flames he was a good enough swordsman to defeat Tyr. And defeating the Sword Emperor would bring him - and his Sky - to the Varia’s attention, was one of the routes to being recruited by the organisation. Even living in the Varia compound and having to deal with assassins trying to kill him - and his Sky - on a regular basis would be better than _this_ \- and Xanxus would likely find more trustworthy Guardians amongst the Varia than he would _here_. And he wanted other Guardians to help him protect his Sky.

He also planned to make it clear to his brother and father just how fucked up the senior Alliance Family's internal dynamics were. They’d make sure that his cousins heard the warnings; he had no desire to see one of his female cousins being used up and spat out by the warring brothers, and he certainly didn’t want to share _his_ Sky with any of them. One Superbi, one Sky was a family rule for a _reason_ ; perhaps more of them had Cloudy natures than anyone made public. Not that considering that distracted him for very long from his new obsession; the idea of taking the Varia for _his_ Sky had settled in his mind, and fuck, maybe he was more than a little Cloudy; the idea of having his own territory, somewhere more under _his_ control than this madhouse appealed. Even if he would have to enforce his Will - and his Sky’s Will - at the point of one of his blades. That was better than having to be _diplomatic_ with Xanxus’s shitty incestuous siblings.

The idea gnawed at him, dug it’s claws in and curled around his Rainy tendencies until it was the obsession he’d admitted to himself; an obsession that he _meticulously_ planned the implantation of, right down to getting his shitty Sky - who was _still_ refusing to tell Donna Daniela how badly behaved his shitty brothers were being - to imbue his favourite sword with his Flames as a just in case measure. Tyr didn’t _normally_ use his Flame and his Sword together, but he wasn’t leaving _anything_ to chance. It was a bit of a trial and error technique, and he was still a bit grumpy about the Sword - his second favourite! - that his Sky had melted whilst experimenting.

Tyr is stronger than he expected. Much, much stronger. He had to reach deeper than he’d _ever_ thought he could just to stay on level pegging with the older man, had to force his own Flames from their Latent state - and fuck, that’d _hurt_ ; how the hell had Xanxus done that at four or five? He’d nearly stumbled, nearly failed, the pain more than he knew how to process, and had lost his hand holding Tyr off while he’d done so - and it was _still_ only his Rain that had answered, his Cloud stubbornly remaining out of reach. He’d managed to kill the other swordsman though, before he’d collapsed; he’d woken in the Varia’s infirmary, his Sky sat amused at his bedside.

“Nona was right, wasn’t she?” He humphed and rolled over, away from his laughing Sky. “You should have waited for me to find a Sun before you did this Shark-trash; while I can heal, I’m nowhere near as good as a specialist would be, and I’m too selfish to let a Flame not mine touch you.” There was a surprisingly gentle touch to the back of his neck, the subtle warmth of sunshine spreading through his body. “You’re just lucky I learned how to do this to keep my mother alive, trash, or you’d have been crippled for _months_ , and from Nona’s tales, you’d have struggled to keep this lot from killing you while you healed.” The ache in his wrist faded from acutely painful to merely sore; something he could ignore. “Now get up trash. Apparently you’ve gotten yourself a job.” When he tries to ignore his shitty-Sky, he finds himself scooped out of the bed, thrown over his shitty-Sky’s shitty shoulder and carried into his ‘new’ office, and dumped in front of a stack of paperwork. “You’ve got work to do Shark-trash; I’m going to play with your new toys.”

Why had he thought this was a good idea? The pile of paperwork was _ridiculous_. He’d thought he was here to kill people, not to sign shitty pieces of paper. No matter how much of it he did, if he left _any_ of it, it bred. He hadn’t escaped the damn office for more than sleep or meals since he’d woken from his battle with Tyr four days earlier, and his shitty-Sky wasn’t helping. On the _other_ hand, his Sky was in the compound _with_ him. Safe. Out of the Iron Fort. In _his_ domain. But the paperwork was going to drive him _insane_. He gave it another day, and then grumbled, stole a car from the motor pool, and sought out Donna Daniela; if he remembered the family stories correctly, four of her Guardians had been Varia, which meant she _should_ know how the organisation was supposed to function.

She laughed. And her Mist cackled hysterically. His Flames flared, and were swamped almost immediately by her Sky; too untrained, too immature to be a threat even in her weakening state. “They’re testing you, Squalo.” Between snorts of laughter she laid out the basic operating structure of the Varia, the way it was _supposed_ to work, each Officer taking responsibility for their own paperwork. “Your most effective solution is probably to set my favourite brat on them, and then, when he’s played with them to his heart’s content, make it clear that they do their paperwork themselves or they’re his permanent chew toys.”

The Mist was still giggling, and he glares at the woman. She stops, and makes a beckoning gesture “C’mere brat. Let me do something about that missing hand at least temporarily; our Storm needs you at full capacity; Massimo and Federico are plotting again.” He grumbled absently, but allowed the Mist to wrap fingers around his stump; the hand they wove itched oddly, and the Mist mumbled something about possessive brats, “Daniela, I need some of your Sky; Xanxus’s got the boy so coated in his Flames despite having not finished the bond that they’re _eating_ my illusions.” The old Donna laughed and laid her own hand over the Mist’s; the illusion settled, strengthening, and stopped itching.

“It isn’t complete?” He was going to kill his shitty-Sky, his shitty-Sky’s father, brothers and his own parents. He didn’t know enough about any of this shit; couldn’t even use his Flames properly and had no idea where to even _start_.

“He’s waiting for your surrender, Squalo.” He swallowed as the idea settles into his head, demands he consider it, square it with the Cloudiness that the woman speaking, the old Donna was so intent on nurturing. “It’s different with every Sky, but it’s the most rewarding thing you’ll _ever_ do.” He stalked out of the suite, the Mist giggling again.

He’s cornered before he leaves the Iron Fort by a Sun he’s seen flitting around Daniela’s wing. He’s not _hers_ , though the Sun wouldn’t mind it, he decides; the old Donna accepts the _femminiello’s_ eccentricities. Not that that makes the conversation the Sun has with him, or the contents of the box the Sun presses on him less humiliating. Nor does the realisation later that judging by the _quality_ of the box’s contents, the Sun had probably been instructed to buy them for him _by_ Daniela because he and Xanxus were being _that_ transparent.

He can’t face his Sky the next morning, but he does make use of one of the items in the box whilst he worked his way through the paperwork he still needs to get done. Lussuria had been _brutally_ honest about the possible ways that the bond might be completed, what his Sky might demand of him, and he preferred to _not_ find himself in medical afterwards; the fact that refusing Xanxus, limiting his Sky, didn’t even cross his mind made his surrender a matter of _when_ , not if.


	3. Chapter 3

There’s a _little_ bit of him that wants to _kill_ the Donna. The idea of surrender, of a formalised dramatic _surrender_ to Xanxus is one that gets underneath his skin. He rolls the idea around in his head, contemplates forms it could take, how to make it most effective - there’s a _tiny_ part of him that almost wants to do it at one of the fucked up family dinners, have the three other Vongola boys _see_ that he’s _entirely_ Xanxus’s, but he doubts that’ll really have the effect he’s looking for. It’s more likely to just end up with Massimo and Federico _also_ inviting Xanxus into their beds and it was fucked up that he thought that was the most likely response to them seeing Xanxus claim him. How had the old Donna ended up with such fucked up grandkids?

He was too possessive to want to share; as tempting as it was to make it _very_ clear he was his Sky’s, the idea of the boys using it as an excuse made him _shudder_. And a grand gesture in the Compound would just be an invitation for one of the other Officers to try something, to test him and attempt to wrest the Varia from him. Not that they’d succeed, but Xanxus would end up adding flambéed Officer to the pile of minions he’d already set fire to. The infirmary was _full_ , and if he was honest he was annoyed with the ridiculous pile of paperwork that had produced.

He’s not at all surprised, several days later, when he finds Xanxus lounging in his office, the ring meant to denote the wearer was the Storm Officer on his thumb. When he goes to say something, his Sky smiles lazily, the same big cat smile he’d worn when Daniela was petting him. He’d ask what the Storm Officer had done, but judging by Xanxus’s pleasure it didn’t matter; the idiot was dead. He does however _growl_ when Xanxus tries to dump his divisional paperwork on him. The older teen might be _his_ Sky, but he’d had enough fucking paperwork this week already because of the shitty-idiot.

Xanxus’s grin sharpens at the sound and when he throws himself at his shitty-Sky, laughs, and pulls the unmodified guns he’s still using. The result is a running battle in the corridors of the main building in the compound; most of the assassins simply laugh and duck out of the way, the one or two who try to join in finding themselves facing _both_ of them long enough to make it clear that this is _their_ game. It ends not in the training salle, but in the suite of rooms that he and Xanxus are currently rattling around in like two peas in an oversized pod.

He swallows. Kneels. Holds up his Sword. Waits.

It’s an archaic form, this surrender. But it fits him, fits them. He still might find himself dead; Xanxus’s bloodlust, without Daniela present to ride herd on it is extreme. His Sky’s hospitalised more than a dozen of the men that have tried to spar with him, killed two - one of them an _Officer_ \- and he wouldn’t have enough time, enough speed or enough skill with his Flames to stop Xanxus if he decided to snatch up his sword and uses it on him.

Not that he thinks he will. There’s more fun ways to deal with this. Both of them are hard; adrenaline does that. It’s why the uniforms are tailored the way they are - that and to incorporate light armour because having an assassin disabled by a kick to the balls would just be _embarrassing_. Xanxus laughs and spits something in a dialect that Squalo can't quite follow. His Sky was a street brat before the Ninth found him; it’s moments like this, when cant, the dialect of the poorest streets, spills from his lips that his origins ares clearest; he’s working on learning it, but hasn’t yet. Had needed to concentrate on learning all the languages that he was getting paperwork in.

He still kneels, eyes shut, waiting.

When it comes, the blow is blunt against his temple, sending him sprawling across the floor of the room, and his sword skittering across the flagstones, out of his reach. Not the worst way that this could have gone; it’s not as if he’d expected _gentleness_ \- and it’s not the pain of a gunshot, or the sharp unforgiving slice of his sword. And he’s been working on the dilators, can take a fairly large one now; if Xanxus takes him like this, it’s going to _hurt_ , but not damage him, and he’s surrendered _everything_ to his Sky. Didn’t get to pick and choose the _how_ \- or the when, apparently. He grays out, the exhaustion from the running battle with his Sky and the blow catching up with him.

He wakes, face down, to a spike of pain shooting up his spine, a dull throbbing headache, red-orange flames burning around the hand occupying his field of vision, and his Will dancing beneath his skin. Xanxus has either stripped him, or burnt his clothes off - he suspects the latter, given the odd way his skin feels. The flagstones of Xanxus’s room are cold and smooth against his left cheek, his chest and his cock, contrasting almost painfully with the blazing heat pinning him to them. Xanxus’s skin was rough, abraded his own.

The weight pinning him shifts, driving another spike of pain up his spine as Xanxus' cock is forced the rest of the way into his body. He might have been working himself open on a nightly basis for the last month, had taught himself to relax for penetration, but his Sky’s cock is large, and there’s very little lubrication left from last night. He tenses reflexively around it's bulk, fighting the reflex, trying to force his muscles to recall the new patterns he’s been teaching them before Xanxus _tears_ him with his demands. The femminiello had warned him of how painful that could be, then, with a laughing grin, had offered to repair the damage with a leer, before turning deadly serious again; warned him that a Sky like Xanxus would take and take and take till he had nothing left, and then consume him whole. His Will ripples beneath his skin.

Xanxus’s voice is hot, low, demanding; orders him to relax, that he’s surrendered even _this_ to him, and he will have it. He can feel Xanxus’s Flames crackling, Sky, and Storm-Cloud borne Wrath wait to consume him if he falters - if he denies the other what he's seeking. His own Flames rise in answer to the threat, and Xanxus’s surge higher in response, making it clear that he’s strong enough to _make_ him surrender.

He’s relieved when his Flames submit, acknowledge his surrender to his Sky rather than flare further, accepting on an instinctual level, his intellectual decision this was his chosen Sky, the one for whom he wants to be - for now, at least - Requiem Rain, the only one he has an desire to serve. (Perhaps he will transition to being the Drifting Cloud, when they’re both older, but for now he’d rather stay _close_ ; at least until there are others he can trust with his Sky.)

He can’t do anything about the minimal of lubrication, not with his Cloud Flames still latent, but he _is_ capable of using his Rain Flames internally to relax himself further; to ease the muscles surrounding the intrusion into his body so they stop trying to resist his body’s use by his Sky. He can also _feel_ his Flames seep into his Sky through the skin contact between them, calming and focusing the fury raging at the core of Xanxus, claiming his Sky in the same way as Xanxus had already claimed _him_. He shivers at the thought of the fact that what he was to lend his Sky was _focus_ ; Donna Daniela had murmured something about Sky bonds being interesting that way. Xanxus focused; that was a terrifying and arousing thought, one that makes his own cock swell. He wondered what he’d get from Xanxus in return.

The pain eases as their Flames mesh with each other, and he goes slack, allowing Xanxus to take what he needs from him. Sky Flames soothe, and Xanxus has taught himself to use them to heal; he’s his Sky’s, and his Sky needs him _whole_. It leaves the friction hot and raw, his body not sure of how to process the sensation. He hadn’t figured that out when he’d been using the dilators; he’d just inserted them and then masturbated until his body had clenched tightly around them - which had been enjoyable. But he couldn’t get his hand to his cock in his current position, and he grumbles; that would have made it easier to translate it into something fun.

Xanxus responded to the grumbling by pulling him up into something closer to a kneeling position, weight supported by his forearms. The shift in position changed the angle of Xanxus’s thrusts, the insistent strokes making a brilliant white heat bloom in his gut, and that pleasure curled around the base of his spine, a tangled knot of tension building and building, and he can already tell that despite any thoughts he might have had about his orientation had been, he wanted more of this; wanted his Sky to use and abuse him.

Wanted this fire, wanted the rapidly blooming pleasure and the threat at his back. Wanted to feel his Sky to pin him down and force him to accept his cock. Wanted the stretch and the burn and the weight of Xanxus’ Flames bearing down on him. Wanted this. Wanted the hand that now wrapped around his cock, with its calluses - different calluses from the ones on his own hands - that was now stroking him roughly, demanding that he surrender even his pleasure to his Sky.

There’s a sharp hissed ‘cum’ from Xanxus, combined with a _vicious_ thrust, and he shrieks as it pushes him over the edge he's been balanced on; and he tumbles down, down, down into the abyss. It’s the same abyss he tumbles into when he fights for his life, the thing that’s driven him since his mother allowed him to pick up a sword, and the pleasure bright star at the bottom of the abyss swallows him _whole_ , his Sky twined intimately around the pleasure, making it clear it’s _all_ his. His to give, his to withhold, and he thrashes against the implied leash only for it tighten and slip into his _soul_. Oh.

He understands. Knows that this is both cost and reward, consequence and cause, and all because he had _willingly_ surrendered. For the fact that he has given up everything, up to, and including the time and nature of his death to his Sky. And with that realisation, the tight knot of pain and pleasure that had curled at the base of his spine ruptured, dragged him back into his body, and it tore him apart, until all he was aware of was the cock that his core muscles were clamping down on, and his Sky. He's _home_. There’s the thrum of Xanxus in the back of his head, bright, all-consuming and fuck, his shitty-Sky had some _amazing_ reserves.

(There was an amused, welcoming pulse of Sky Flames, tinged with Cloud Flames; Donna Daniela, pleased that he had finalised the bond. No words, but a sense of relief that Xanxus had someone of his own watching his back.)


	4. Chapter 4

“Did he at least make it enjoyable?” The question makes him stumble in his stalking around the older Sky’s suite. Their presence there had quickly become part of the routine of a visit to the Iron Fort, a safe space to hide from the insanity that was the Boss’s shitty siblings. Xanxus was sprawled next to his Grandmother’s comfortable chair, and was almost purring as the old Donna tied another set of feathers and beads into his shitty-Boss’s hair makes an amused sound at the blunt question from the Donna’s Rain.

“Did I, trash?” Fuck, shitty-Boss was _mean_ , adding that kind of pressure to answer. But also very pretty, with the way he was relaxed under his Nona’s hands, like a large hunting cat preening in the sun, and he’d protect his Sky’s ability to be like this to his _very_ last breath.

“You’re not too big for me to spank, Xanxus.” The amused statement from the old Donna almost made him choke. “Play nicely with your Rain Cloud.” His Sky swatted at his grandmother’s knee, like he was a large cat that he’d though of him as earlier. But with his claws sheathed.

“Given I thought I was straight, and I want to do it again -” there was a choking noise from the direction of Donna Daniela’s Rain, that was probably laughter being suppressed, and his shitty-Boss just grinned.

“Good.” She ruffled her grandson’s hair, and he took the affectionate gesture. “Now how are your Flames, Squalo? Bonds to a Sky can do strange things to them, especially when the Sky in question is as ridiculous as my Stormling is.” He takes a perch opposite the other Rain.

“I still can’t summon them properly.” He couldn’t; it was getting frustrating. They’d answered him during the match with Tyr, and he’d felt them move beneath his skin when he’d surrendered to Xanxus, but they wouldn’t surface now. Donna Daniela exchanged a look with her Mist and her Rain; that look spoke _volumes_ , but not that he could read even with the skill boost he seemed to have got from the shitty-Boss. “But I can feel him, and I've picked up the basics of the half-a-dozen languages I needed to read the Varia’s reports in the past _week_. Which -” he eyed his shitty-Boss, “I assume is what I gained in exchange for the focus I gave the Boss.” His Sky smirked, a confirmation that the linguistic skill had come from that particular source.

“Another three or four attempts by our new toys to kill you, trash and you’ll get the feel of them. They made a very pretty mess of the last of the assassins to try and kill you.” That did send the Donna’s Mist and Rain into hysterics.

“I remember those days. So much fun.” It was Donna Daniela’s quiet Mist that had spoken. “The Varia was the first place I felt safe, even if I did have to stab three people to ensure it. No one looked at me like I was insane just because of my Flame-type.”

“I remember how annoyed you were when you harmonised with me. You’d been aiming for the Mist Officer’s slot and suddenly you had a sixteen year old heiress to mind -” Donna Daniela sounded wistful, and like the memory had unfolded in front of her. “- I hadn’t even been looking for Guardians, just someone to contract to deal with the second cousin who wanted to kill me.”

“He was too Stupid to live, and you were a _very_ pretty sixteen. And terrorising fascists with you, my lady, and reforming the Family was even more fun than _just_ killing people who were too Stupid to be allowed to live. Plus we did get to kill Benito.” He blinked; he thought - he’d have to dig in the Varia’s Archives. That sounded like one hell of a war, and no matter what anyone thought, there was no such thing as an ex-Varia member; there would be records of Daniela’s antics somewhere in there.

“It was a shame we had to let the communists claim the credit for that. Anyway, Squalo,” her Mist and Rain exchanged another of those speaking looks, a certain amount of resigned agreement, “My son _should_ organise your training as one of his sons’ Guardians, but I’m beginning to think he’s gone senile; if he doesn’t send Schnitten Brabanters or Visconti to instruct you, I’ll summon you in the next few weeks and _we’ll_ teach you. And what my son was thinking when he came up with those ridiculous code names -” she finished tying a last set of beads and their associated feathers into his shitty-Boss’s hair, “- go home and play with the blueprints I gave you Xanxus. If you’re here much longer you’ll get ordered to attend one of my son’s ‘family’ dinners.”

He shuddered. ‘Family’ dinners in the Varia compound, with the wide variety of poisons, and other attempts to make food ‘tastier’ were more enjoyable than what Timoteo di Vongola called a ‘family’ dinner. Incestuous fuckers. “Shitty-Boss?”

“We’ve got a mission. I wasn’t coming back here without an _excuse_ to leave, trash. There’s even a swordsman for you to play with.” His Boss’s eyes were shut, but his fingers petted the two unmodified pistols in their holsters on his hips.

Donna Daniela made an amused sound. “Shoo then, and have fun, boys.”

They did. And Donna Daniela’s Mist was right; killing people too Stupid to be allowed to live was fun. Especially when he got to learn some new Sword techniques. And fucking the adrenaline out of their systems was even more fun.

Xanxus vanishes into one of the workshops when they return to the compound; he’d learned basic gunsmithing from one of the Iron Fort’s armourers; when he emerges more than a week later, there are two pistols - heavily modified Berettas, with the red X the shitty-Boss used as his personal mark on the stocks. When he demonstrates what he can do with them, he has to fight the urge to sink to the floor there and then and suck his cock; they make his Flames _even_ more destructive than it had been; one of the Clouds had tried to assassinate the pair of them and two shots have the man disintegrating, and fuck, that was hot. He gave into the desire; why was he suppose to resist?

Everyone _assumes_ that as a Sky, Xanxus is the one in charge of the Varia; they don’t see that the Ring he wears is that of the Storm Officer. His shitty-Sky would rather not do the paperwork, after all, though his shitty-Sky had reserved the right to torment the others in the guise of training. His Sky was having a ridiculous amount of fun expressing his competence and dominance over the rest of the Varia - and was coming to his bed in the evenings, a ridiculous large cat delighted with himself.

He sends his shitty-Sky out to terrorise the fucking Estraneo; the assholes have stuck their heads out of their rat-holes and the Boss has a strong enough Will that he won’t succumb to any of the toys the Idiots have come up with since they had last emerged from their rat-hole. It was half apology for the fact that Xanxus was going to have to spend some time in the Iron Fort, half attempt to keep enough of the more junior assassins functional enough to cover the milk runs.

Daniela summons him while Xanxus is out terrorising the Idiots into retreating deeper into their hole, and gives him the lessons in his Flames that he’s been missing. He can see it exhausting her, but when he goes to say something, she matches her Will against his, and he retreats; she’s chosen this, and he respects her too much to deny her her choice of death. And it’s a relief to have his Rain at least _reliably_ answering his call, and the reassurance that the Cloud would come eventually.

With hindsight, he regrets the fact that he retreats back to the Compound that evening. He’d originally planned to be waiting for his Sky in their nominal suite in the Iron Fort, but he’d been too exhausted to deal with the shitty-Boss’s shitty siblings and his shitty father. Whilst one of the assassins might try to attempt to kill him in his sleep, he was allowed to fight back within the Compound, but he wasn’t permitted to do anything about the incestuous fuckers masquerading as his Sky’s siblings.


	5. Chapter 5

The snapping of the bond between his shitty-Sky and the old Donna drags him awake from a deep sleep; the depth and breadth of his Sky’s pain, the way his Flames tried to consume him, to allow Xanxus to follow Donna Daniela tearing at something inside him. He refused to allow his shitty-Boss to _do_ that; knows that if the Boss falls he’ll fall too, and he’s not Sword Emperor _yet_. He holds onto that, feeds the will to live down the bond and he doesn't remember the drive from the compound to the Iron Fort; he was concentrating too hard on holding on stopping Xanxus following his own Sky into death. He was only able to piece things together afterwards from the police reports, has no idea how he survived a 120 mph speed run between the compound and the Iron Fort on his Ducati; three separate police patrols had attempted to intercept him, only to realise that they were chasing the Head of the Varia and call off the pursuit. Perhaps he had borrowed the shitty-Boss’s intuition?

He also has no idea how he had enough self-possession when he arrived at the Iron Fort to only use either the flat or the spine of his blade on the guards that tried to stand between him and his fragmenting Sky. He’s relieved that he did; it wouldn’t help the situation for the Head of the Varia to have carved a hole _that_ wide in the Fort’s defenses, but it would have served the idiots right. Who the hell thought that trying to stand between a Guardian and their Sky was a _good_ idea. Nor does he remember when the Sun that had taken care of the old Donna, the femminiello, had begun to trail after him, the harsh sunshine of a desert at his back. He shouldn’t be; isn’t Varia or one of his Sky’s Guardians, but he knows with absolute certainty that Lussuria will follow his commands.

The door he finally stops at _should_ be the ornate door to the suite of rooms Donna Daniela had had opened for his shitty-Boss, the suite that the two of them rattled around in when they were forced to stay in the main house. But it was currently not a door, but rather an ornate carving that appeared to have been merged perfectly into the surrounding wall. It was an interesting application of the Sky Flame's Harmony Factor and _reeked_ of the old man's Flame. He still has no idea how he had been so fucking sure that his Sky was trapped in those rooms, but he’d been absolutely _sure_.

Shit. How the hell was he suppose to get through a solid fucking wall, reinforced with Sky Flames? He had a couple of small explosive charges tucked into pouches on his sword belt, but they were little better than flashbangs; certainly nothing high powered enough to break through a wall capable of standing up to his Boss's Flame - especially as he doubted the shitty old man had succeeded in separating his Sky from the firearms he’d made. A flash of purple caught his attention, and reminded of the lessons Donna Daniela had given him earlier that day. She’d taught him to reliably access his Rain Flame, and her Rain had taught him a handful of more unusual tricks to their use. They’d tried to coax his Cloud Flames out as well, but had failed, and she had warned him that accessing his Cloud Flames could take him years, but this was a desperate situation.

He used the knowledge that he was desperate, desperate to reach his Sky physically, to keep him from following Donna Daniela by _whatever_ methods _worked, to bolster his Will until it was like the steel of his blade, exactly as Donna Daniela had taught him, and _reached_.

His Rain answered his call, danced around his hands, and his heart sank. Tranquility might help him once he had reached his shitty-Sky, but there was almost nothing it could do to help him now. Except Donna Daniela’s Rain had told him that the uses of _any_ Flame were only limited by their wielders’ imagination. The example he’d given was the one he tried now; used it to still his panic, to deepen his thought processes. It makes things click, the realisation that the reason that his Cloud wasn’t coming because he wasn’t concentrating on the things that _made_ him a Cloud. Like his desire to keep his territory _safe_. He feeds that desire to his Flames, and the flames dancing around his hands shift - with glacial speed - from blue to purple and he barely contains his whoop of relief at the sight of those purple Flames. He wove those Cloudy Flames around and through the Flame conductive shell of the explosives, concentrating on it propagating the explosive nature of the cartridges.

He set three of the six cartridges at even spacings along the wall, and then raised a challenging eyebrow at the femminiello. The Sun took the challenge, and after dragging him back around the corner, flared his Sun, sharp and brilliant, and force-detonated the cartridges. The resulting explosion rocked them both where they were sheltered, and dust filled the corridor. The corners of his lips curled up into something that bore more resemblance to a smile than a snarl, but only just - there's no such thing as overkill, and he looks forward to using that trick again on a mission. The femminiello’s smile is one of answering viciousness, and he wonder how the Sun hadn’t been coaxed into the Varia yet.

Being Xanxus' bonded guardian came with multiple benefits; one of which was a degree of awareness of the youngest Vongola’s actions. Something deeper than just the ability to read his shitty-Boss’s body language, and it had already saved his life once or twice. Mostly his shitty-Sky chose to throw glassware, which he was always grateful for as when Xanxus was _truly_ angry, his Sky threw the Storm-tainted Flames that came so easily to him, and those ate _anything_ they touched. The awareness of his shitty-Sky has him hitting the floor and yanking the femminello down with him as a wave almost entirely composed of Storm Flames washed out of the training room at head height; he swore at the sign that his Sky had lost control entirely, had been consumed by the instincts of a raging, mourning Storm.

His shitty-Sky stood in the middle of the destruction of the oversized suite that they’d shared with his eyes and hands glowing dark red, and he cursed viciously. While he was fast, and strong, his Sky outclassed him by a wide margin; if Xanxus had any inclination to take the Varia from him - which he hadn’t, as he’d rather not do the resulting paperwork - he wouldn’t have been able to stop him. He hadn’t stopped his Sky when the older teen had demanded his surrender; couldn’t force himself to thwart his Xanxus.

The femminiello hissed something that he didn’t quite catch the specifics of, though the tone was _definitely_ appreciative and he had to agree. Xanxus at the height of his rage was _beyond_ striking, and the killing intent radiating from his shitty Sky made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. What the hell had the old man been thinking, trapping his boss with only his rage and his grief for company?

It takes all of his hard won agility and skill as a swordsman, all his gymnastic skill, all his awareness of his Sky’s movements, to get close enough to Xanxus to make skin contact with him. He uses that brief contact to overwhelm his Sky’s system with Cloud-fed Rain flames. The Storm raging in his shitty-Boss's system almost eats through them and he despaired of what he would do if it didn’t work. Fortunately, his Sky’s Flames recognised that he was one of the older teen’s Guardians; and the Sky Flames, so tired, so low compared to the rage of Xanxus Storm cooperated enough. He barely managed to catch Xanxus as he folded into enforced Tranquillity, and he's glad for the femminiello’s help in extracting his Sky from the Iron Fort.

They're almost stopped, on the way out. It forces him to finally _formally_ declare himself as Xanxus’s senior bonded Guardian. Not that they’ve been trying to hide it, but there’s a difference between the assumption and the confirmation. Xanxus’s presence in the Varia Compound could have been explained in a myriad other ways, including a visit to a friend that had ended in self-defense and the possession of an Officer’s Ring, but him being one of Xanxus’s bonded Guardians tells a different story. Fortunately it had been Ganauche and Brow Nie that had intercepted them and they were the two sanest members of the Ninth Generation, and recognised a battle not worth fighting.

He’s sure that his shitty-Boss will make him pay for the tranquility-overdose later. He suspects that he will either find his ass being kicked from one end of the Varia's Compound to the other, or with an exceedingly sore ass from his Sky’s desire to confirm his dominance. But it was easier to ask forgiveness, and all that bullshit.


	6. Chapter 6

He’s not surprised when his shitty-Sky makes a half-hearted attempt to kill him on waking up from the Tranquility overdose he’d used to get him out of the Iron Fort. Well, he has to _assume_ it’s a half hearted attempt, because the Flames his shitty-Sky is throwing around are more Sky than Storm - and the more lethal his Sky is feeling, the more Storm leaks into his Flames - and despite the fact he’s a crackshot, he doesn’t draw his X-Pistols. Which was a relief; he might be fast enough to manage to dodge most of the rounds, but by the time his shitty-Sky had emptied both pistols’ magazines, he would have at _least_ clipped him, even with his new found ability to read his Sky’s moves in the other teen’s Flames.

He still winds up pinned to the floor of the training room, despite the fact he had gone up against his bare handed Sky with his primary weapon; even if his shitty-Sky isn’t trying to kill him his shitty-Sky _knows_ the counter to every move. Fucking Hyper intuition was a fucking cheat. In fact the fact that his shitty-Sky wasn’t trying to kill him was precisely why he ended up pinned with an aroused cock rubbing against his ass. His shitty-Sky’s shitty sense of humor and the way he used him as a comfort object was a complete reasonable explanation for why he was being stripped, too.

The fingers that press into his asshole are coated in what he suspects is the mineral oil from the maintenance kit his shitty-Boss had started to carry since he’d modified the Berettas he was using into being able to take Dying Will ammunition, and thank fuck for that; he might be up for anything his Sky _wants_ , but he’d still rather not need to spend a week sleeping on his front once his shitty-Boss was done with his ass. “You really did mean that surrender, didn’t you, Shark-trash?” There’s confusion in Xanxus’s voice, at the way he had melted beneath probing fingers, rather than fight the demand. “I could feel you demanding I not follow my Sky even before you blasted through the wall,” the fingers stretched and worked him open brutally fast, and he fumbles his way through using his own Flames to ease the process, Rain to relax the muscles and Cloud to make sure he was sloppy enough with the oil that even if his shitty-Boss decided to spend _hours_ fucking his ass it wouldn’t bleed, “what right did you have to do that, Squalo Superbi?”

“Every fucking right, shitty Boss. Taking a Cloud is a two way street. And I’m not confirmed as the Sword Emperor yet, and like fuck you’re leaving Donna Daniela’s legacy in your shitty family’s hands. She’d kick your ass from one end of Hell to the other if you did.” The fingers withdrew from his ass, and one hand tangled in his hair, and because it was his shitty-Sky it was the one coated in mineral oil and it was holding him down.

“Shut the fuck up.” His shitty-Sky shoved his cock into his ass and hissed when he took it smoothly to the root, and squeezed, faking resistance. “Shitty fucking Shark.”

“Your shitty fucking Shark, Boss.” He had surrendered _everything_ to his Sky, and he’d be damned if he won’t remind his shitty-Sky that he’d accepted his surrender, and they were Sky and Cloud, even if he was wearing the mask of a Rain.

“Plan a fucking coup, shitty Shark. But later, when I finish fucking your ass. And stop using your fucking Flames on it, you’re too sloppy to be any fun.” Perhaps he’d overdone the multiplication on the oil, but he doubted his shitty-Sky had ever taken a cock, and he was having plenty of fun thanks to enough lubrication and his shitty-Sky hitting his prostate more often than not. (And he blamed the femminiello for the fact he even knew the words for _this_.)

“Fuck you too, Boss.” The flash of Storm Flames that left him almost dry dragged a squeak from him that he’d deny to his dying day, and forces him into something of a state of one upmanship with his shitty-Sky to preserve his ass. And the amused sounds from his shitty-Sky suggested that he was treating it as a sadistic little game while he fucked him.

“Not happening shitty-Shark, until you can beat me in the training room, or I’ve been ‘crowned’.” The taunt was punctuated with several sharp thrusts and a X-gun being held to the back of his head. “There’s some entertaining effects that uncharged Dying Will bullets cause, shitty-Shark.” The click of the trigger - there’s no bullet in the chamber, but his body doesn’t know that - brings him off, and he loses control of his newly woken Cloud Flames. He’d mostly been using them internally and that meant they amplified the sensation and he’d deny that he had blacked out from his shitty-Sky fucking him on the floor of the fucking training room until his last breath. Or that him blacking out seemed to get his shitty-Sky off, judging by the distinctive feeling of cum in his ass when he came back round.

“Very pretty,” there’s a barely audible pause in the femminiello’s voice, “Boss.” He expects his shitty-Sky to immolate them for staying to watch, but instead their Sun just settles into his shitty-Sky’s Flames, and fuck he can’t kill the femminiello now. Not if his Boss has decided to accept the Sun _that_ easily, and how the fuck? Perhaps Donna Daniela had been right to call him a Cloud. They were the hardest ones for a Sky to break to their hand after all, and he’s actually grateful, because he’d have been incredibly frustrated to watch others harmonise with his Sky before he’d managed it.

And shit, why hadn’t Donna Daniela’s Mist or her Rain warned him that Guardians harmonised with _each_ other through their Sky? He could feel the heavy sunshine of the femminiello’s Flame, and fuck they were a seriously strong Sun. How had they avoided being pulled into the shitty mess that was his shitty-Sky’s siblings’ battle for dominance? He didn’t think that any of them had a Sun half as strong. And why was he thinking that the bruises his shitty-Sky had to have left on him would be _pretty_?

“Say a fucking word, and I don’t care if you’re the Boss’s Sun, I’ll cut your fucking throat.” His shitty-Sky made an amused sound and pulled his now softening cock out of his ass, and rolled off his back. He heard the sound of a zipper, and he was going to stab his shitty-Sky if he kept doing this to him. At least he hadn’t burnt his uniform off this time.

“At least he remembered to use some lube? You don’t want to see the mess that the other Vongola boys make out of their bed partners sometimes.” The femminiello made an amused sound and dodged when he came up with his sword in his hand. “You’re awfully pretty, Squalo. Might want to put on some pants before we spar though; wouldn’t want to damage that pretty cock even if you don’t seem to be getting much use from it, and the Boss would pout if I damaged that ass he seems to like so much.” He snarled, and nearly threw himself at the femminiello anyway, but thought better of it and stalked over to where the shitty-Boss had left his pants. He launched himself at the shitty-Sun when he had them on though, much to his shitty-Sky’s amusement. The femminiello had tried to protest, an exclaimed “Boss?!” but their shitty-Sky had just laughed.

“He’s my Rain Cloud, femminiello-trash. And the Head of the fucking Varia. Take your lumps so he knows how much training and protection you’ll need to fit in here.” That was as good as fucking permission to work out all his frustrations at all the shitty things that had been happening on the shitty-Sun and he threw himself at the femminiello with bared teeth. It’s just as well that he’s the fucking uncrowned Sword Emperor and he’s used to facing off against his shitty-Sky. The Sun’s raw and needs polishing but they’ve got the basics of using their Flames offensively, and are fast enough to make him work to put them on their backs and rest his spatha against the femminiello’s throat.

“Yield?” He’s tempted to push his sword into the femminiello’s voice box anyway; they're a strong enough Sun that with his shitty-Sky’s Flames to lean on, they'd survive it. They’d probably even have a functioning voice afterwards.

“As long as you don’t put that through my throat, honey. I rather like my singing voice and healing your own vocal chords is almost impossible.” He allows the tip of the sword to slice into the femminiello’s throat _anyway_. But not deep enough to do any real damage.

“The current fucking Sun Officer’s a perverted piece of shit that has the mooks scared of going near the infirmary. Deal with him.” The femminiello definitely hadn’t realised that for all his shitty-Sky was _his_ Sky, he wasn’t the Leader of the Varia. It was a fine balancing act, but one the two of them made work; the Varia was his _territory_.

“As you command, Captain.” The Sun slides right into place within the castle, though Squalo soon discovers that the femminiello has a disturbing tendency to mother anyone they’re close to. Including both him and his shitty-Sky. They also move themselves into the Sky suite without even asking fucking permission. They also take a great deal of glee in torturing the homophobia out of the mooks and wresting control of the medical wing as requested, coming down to breakfast three days after they harmonised with his shitty-Sky with the Sun Officer’s Ring on their thumb. No one mentions that said Sun officer’s body doesn’t show up for another six weeks, and is suspiciously clean. Everyone who gravitates towards the Varia is broken in one way or another, it’s just a case of managing the damage. And the previous Sun Officer’s peccadillos had been getting out of hand.

(None of them would ever admit that Xanxus bonding his Sun had been that simple; the lies in the future would get more and more ridiculous, especially with their public personas. The best version he’s hears is from one of the Varia’s baby Rains in the future, involves his shitty-Boss bringing home a dead mark, and he and Lussuria bonded over unholy things to do to corpses. It fits the mythology of the Varia, at least, but no-one of Varia Quality is that stupid when it comes to missions.)


	7. Chapter 7

The femminiello’s preferences for the type of contract they prefer to take becomes very clear, very quickly. His shitty-Sky liked the challenges; he didn’t stir from the Compound for anything less than a Flame Active target. He generally only ventured out for swordsmen, given that he had the entire Varia to administer and his shitty-Sky had ordered him to plan a coup. (Which was going to take time if they were going to do it properly, and Donna Daniela must be laughing in her grave. Given some of the stories he’d been told about the other wartime Donnas, she’d have probably spent a good hour laughing and then helped with the planning. He missed her already. More than he missed his hand.) Whereas the femminiello took great delight in sashaying out of the compound at every opportunity to torment the hypocrites and the homophobes; despite how they chose to present themselves most of the time, they made a _very_ pretty woman when they wanted to.

But it’s the femminiello - Lussuria, he must try and remember their name, given that they were both bound to the same Sky - that drags home the little Storm. Several mooks get themselves killed for the things they insinuate in the hours after their Sun waltzes back into the Compound with the brat over their shoulder. Whatever Lussuria’s faults are, child abduction and molestation are not sins that can be laid at their door. Culling mooks who thought it was, or thought it would be acceptable if it was the femminiello’s perversion, was just improving standards.

“Brought us a new recruit, Captain-honey.” Said new recruit was trying very hard to stab their Sun to death, but Lussuria wasn’t helping the situation by healing every stab almost before it happened and laughing hysterically.

“Lussuria,” he picked up his spatha, the favourite of his swords from where he kept it while he was doing paperwork, “ _why_ did you bring home a knife-happy pre-pubescent? Your tastes don’t run that way.”

“Seemed like he belonged with us, Captain. He’s the one who killed the two mooks that were _supposed_ to do the mission I was on, and well, that means he can’t be far off the Varia Quality you and Boss-honey want.” There was another wet sound as the brat tried using a knife in each hand to see if that was more effective.

“Yes, but that wasn’t an excuse to start kidnapping potential candidates, and fuck, kid, Lussuria’s a Sun, and the Varia Sun Officer. That means they’re a natural Healer. Two knives aren’t enough to kill them unless you decapitate him, and -” the brat _tried_ to do just that, and he doused the brat with enough Rain Flames to knock him out, “- he learns fast. If the Boss wasn’t our Storm Officer, he’d make Officer in a few years.”

“My thoughts. And if the Boss becomes Decimo -” he flared his Cloud Flames, spreading them through his territory, and tying his Rain Flames to them to give himself time to catch any eavesdroppers.

Something whispered at the edge of his senses, and he glared at the Sun that shared his Sky. “If you’ve just put me in a position where I _have_ to take on one of the divisions, Lussuria, I’m going to beat you _bloody_.”

“Sorry Captain, Honey. But that’s a general whisper within the Alliance that Boss-honey should be Decimo. If I was going to mention what happened when he and I bonded, I wouldn’t have brought the baby Storm with me.” He hissed. _Fuck_. That wasn’t good. It would make the execution of the current version of his plan for a coup far trickier. Fuck, fuck, Fuck.

And using his Cloud that openly attracted his shitty-Sky’s attention. He was normally so careful to pretend to be a Rain; his shitty-Sky twitched and hunted him down every time he allowed his Cloud out, and invariably ended up fucking him up against the wall or over his desk. Not that he was complaining, but allowing Lussuria to watch the one time he had was enough. And the brat was coming round too, and he didn’t want to let _him_ watch either.

The shitty-Boss has _timing_. Shitty timing. He stomps into his office with his hands full of Flames, and an erect cock, and fuck, he wants to do something about that erection, but not in front of witnesses. The Flames woke the brat up, and he lit up with the purest Storm Flames that any of them have ever seen, and launched himself at his shitty-Sky with an incomprehensible cry on his lips, and shit. He ducks as the shitty-Boss’s Flames shaded Sky Orange, and Storm and Sky met, and “fuck, if you’re going to beat on a shitty little kid Boss, do it in one of the fucking training rooms, _damnit._ ”

“Shut up shitty-shark. He’s a Storm which makes him _my_ problem.” He tries to use his Rain Flames to calm his shitty-Boss down, to make him think for long enough to stop trying to kill the brat, only to find both of them turning on him with Storm Flames, and he ducks out of his Office, dragging the shitty-Sun out with him. There’s going to be a hell of a lot of paperwork he was going to have to do over again, and there was going to be even more paperwork needed to authorise the fucking repairs. Perhaps he could force the femminiello to do it as he brought the child home? He nearly launched himself at the laughing femminiello when he felt a bond, Sky to Storm bloom into being, hard and fast and vicious, a thing of crazed mirrors and bloody images. Fuck.

“Shitty-Boss, what the fuck did you just do?” He stomps back into his wrecked office, purple Flames spilling down his spatha. If Rain Flames weren’t going to the trick, he’d use Cloud and put them both in the infirmary and under the femminiello’s ‘tender’ care for a fucking month. But his shitty-Boss had the kid - six, maybe seven - asleep on his chest while he sprawled on _his_ sofa. Shitty-Sky.

The child is a boy, who calls himself Belphegor, and the execution of his twin and parents - for cause, no less - was most decidedly what he and his shitty-Boss wanted for Varia Quality. He also hadn't realised just how much of a soft spot for kids the Boss had under certain circumstances, because the bond tasted _paternal_. Fuck.


	8. Chapter 8

Leviathan is an apology present as far as Squalo can figure out. He’s not entirely sure _what_ his Sky’s shitty father is apologising _for_ , given that the afternoon after Leviathan was sent over, he’d been forced to stab Massimo in the thigh to get the point across that the only person he was bending over for was Xanxus. (He missed the femoral artery, deliberately. He wasn’t _quite_ ready to launch the coup he was planning, and killing one of the other Vongola boys would either end up with them all dead, or his Sky in charge of the Family. There wasn’t an in between. Once he had a Varia-viable plan he wouldn’t be so _nice_.)

He’s an active Lightning, who fights with parasols of all things. Fairly strong, but Mafia raised and it showed. (He's met one or two lightning who've grown up civilian that have more, ah, personality than the ones for whom the indoctrination starts _early_. The Bovino are about the only Lightning Line that have a personality, and that’s because they’re Scientists and try to stay latent. That they’ve produced at least one Arcobaleno gives them a lot of leeway.) There are tells in his body language, and in his fixation on Xanxus. A decent Mist might be able to start the deprogramming, but for now that devotion was their best defense against Levi being a spy for the Ninth. His shitty Sky thinks his annoyance at the Lightning’s behaviour is amusing, and seems to be able to ignore the Lightning’s obsessive tendencies; perhaps it was exposure? All three of his brothers had ‘mafia’ Lightnings after all.

And Leviathan is a complete contrast with Belphegor. The seven year old has far more agency than the Lightning, is willing and able to set limits - and insists on being addressed as “Prince” Belphegor. For all the little Storm is a pest, and puts enough of the Storm mooks in the infirmary to keep Lussuria busy most days, he’s a precocious brat who needs very little help to do the paperwork or to run his squad. Leviathan on the other hand needed his hand held, and _really_ wanted the Boss to be the one that held his hand. He’d had to resist the temptation to drape himself possessively over his Sky, but resisted; for all Xanxus found Leviathan amusing, he hadn’t _bonded_ him.

He beats both of them into shape; Leviathan’s not bad with his parasols, and fucking lethal with them with enough space, but he also tries to use them like swords when in confined spaces - so he drives him into the ground until he actually has some technique, and he’s fast enough to block shots with either his parasol or his Flames. Belphegor is a sneaky brat, and he raises an eyebrow at the fact that the knives seem to be endless; he finally catches the very focused Cloud and Mist Flames and that the knife the brat plays with the most is the original and sends him off to the R&R department to get it upgraded. The brat only gets more lethal with wires he can thread his Storm through.

He was Xanxus' senior Guardian, and had won command of the Varia for himself, made it his territory, and he wasn't going to be anyone's fucking minder. He had enough paperwork to do. (Other than his shitty-Sky, but his shitty-Sky made him _want_ to kneel. He was fairly sure that he'd do anything for Xanxus. Including, as Xanxus had asked him, fight him tooth and nail when he demanded something Squalo knew was wrong.) Squalo is undeniably grateful for the fact that Belphegor is bonded and Leviathan isn’t . The idea of having Levi's hysterical adoration of Xanxus in the back of his head makes him shudder - he likes the way he appreciates Xanxus (and his cock) - and having it shift under the weight of the Lightning’s mania wasn’t something he was ready to deal with. He can just about cope with the way he's starting to appreciate Lussuria's views on the aesthetic of bruising and the way both he and his Sky now _invariably_ fuck whenever they’re coming down from an adrenaline spike, and the way Belphegor's funhouse mirrors have infested his head - he had to learn half a dozen techniques to manage his mind in the aftermath of Belphegor. He also has to keep a tighter rein on his desire to wash away his Sky's concerns about the mess the Ninth is making of the Famiglia with an ocean of blood and his own body; both Lussuria and Belphegor are far less inclined to wait for the right moment, but he’s the Varia Leader and their Strategist for a _reason_.

He’s not ready to share the Boss with with further individuals. He wants to keep his Sky to himself for the time being, though is going to have to learn to share at some point. Xanxus is strong. Strong enough that he will have to share his Sky with a full set of bonded Guardians, eventually, but not yet. Please God not until they're all more stable.

Except that God isn’t feeling particularly merciful. He wakes with an absolute raging headache, and finds that there’s been a little coup amongst the Mists in the building. The new Officer _looks_ even younger that their Storm, but the pacifier is a give away. Viper - Mammon, as they declare their Varia name will be - is an unwelcome confirmation of exactly how strong Xanxus actually is. The fact that the Mist Arcobaleno is even willing to entertain the prospect of working for them, has decided that they will take up residence amongst them will bring enough attention to the occupants of the Varia compound.

Complaining about it when he’s getting the little Mist to fill out the paperwork just makes Mammon laugh hysterically. Then he ‘forgets’ that Mammon is an Arcobaleno for the entire length of an entire conversation, only to remember at the end of it, and he stops worrying. At least until his shitty-Sky takes one look at their new Mist Officer, throws back his head and _laughs_ as the bond forms between his shitty-Sky and the shitty-Mist and fuck, how has that pacifier not driven the Arcobaleno insane? The Curse that tries to jump along the bonds that tie the four of them together, but his Sky’s Flames contain it, and he can breathe again. What the fuck was up with that? He’d never heard anything about the I Prescelti Setti being _cursed_ in all the stories about them.

If word was to slip out that Xanxus had succeeded in binding one of the Strongest Seven to him as a Guardian rather than it just being that the Mist had decided that they wanted to spend a few years killing people and being catered to - the thought made Squalo shudder, but the Mist seemed to be able to hide the fact that they were an Arcobaleno, despite the fact they were toddler-sized. He’d just have to trust that they would conceal their bonded state, too.

It amuses him though, that even with the _deep_ awareness of the rest of Xanxus’s Guardians that he’d acquired, he had yet to be able to figure out Mammon’s gender. Lussuria’s, sure; Mammon’s no. Mammon’s gift to the bond became apparent to him when his Mist tertiary becomes more usable, and his ability to read body language gets _far_ better. That former was convenient; it made him far harder to disarm. The latter was highly lucrative; he’d negotiated a highly complex contract for the Prince’s services and trebled the amount he’d previously got for one of the Storm brat’s annihilation contracts.

Having a Mist of the Arcobaleno’s strength as the Mist Officer, makes certain missions more viable, and having a Mist that strong in their ‘set’ meant that - providing no-one irritated the Mist too much without paying Mammon off - meant that they could at least relax within their home base, could think and talk about what might have to be done to keep the Family strong without worrying about being overheard.

That makes planning the Coup far safer; which increases the temptation to do something about his shitty-Sky’s shitty incestuous family members and the fact they were driving the Family into the ground. Temptation whose flames are fanned further every time they are summoned to the Iron Fort. For a man who had spent time within the Varia compound as a youth, and who had once had a Varia name, Timoteo Vongola was an old coward. And a senile old fool who couldn’t help but hold onto power.


	9. Chapter 9

He wakes in the infirmary of the Varia Compound, on house arrest; the gut wound keeps him in bed, and the cracked, warped bond to his Sky has driven him half-way insane. Lussuria at least is flitting and fluttering around, but they’re more than a little manic, glaring at the other Sun working the infirmary with them. He looks familiar, but he can’t put a finger on it with the way his mind is splintered.

He’d nearly bled to death in the depths of the Cradle beneath the Fort, in too much shock from the part-severance of his bond with his Sky by whatever the fuck it was that he’d watched the Ninth _do_ to his Sky that had turned him into a popsicle. He’d not expected to wake back up again; he had vague memories of the old bastard kneeling beside him, and pressing a Sky Flame covered hand to the gut wound; he’s not sure why the Ninth bothered to save him.

Their coup _should_ have succeeded. He and his Sky had planned it very, very carefully. Had individually matched assassins to sub-missions - made sure that everyone could face and beat their opponents; he’d taken his Sky’s oldest brother - Xanxus had had his father; two of the senior Rains were assigned to his other brothers as they’d wanted them alive, not dead - but he’d ended up gutting Enrico and both his bonded Guardians though. He’d found the three of them in bed, and Enrico had only laughed and invited him to fetch his Sky and join them.. Belphegor had had two of the old man’s Guardians, as his target, had insisted; had brought down Brow Nie easily enough, then Ganauche II; but had lost control at some point, and torn out the man’s throat and bathed in his blood and had gotten distracted, and shot. It had all been going so well until Xanxus had tried to confront his father, and found himself in a pre-planned trap; he’d been too injured to break the ambush, and the Clouds that should have been supporting his Sky were nowhere to be seen.

“You’re a mess, little brother.” There’s a Rain Flame covered hand on his ankle, and if he wasn’t still recovering from a gut wound he’d stab Orcinus for surprising him.

“Shit, Orcinus, what the fuck are you _thinking_?” His older brother perched on the end of his bed, and now he was awake, he could feel the low level Rain Flames keeping the other occupants of the infirmary asleep.

“I killed your traitor, little brother. But _why_ didn’t you ask for help, you _idiot_?” He snarls at his brother, Cloud Flames, coating his hands, not entirely sane, his brother’s presumption tripping his instincts. “Oh, that’s new.” His brother’s head tilted and increased the pressure of his own Rain Flame. “I thought we were all Rains this generation, Squalo.”

“It was a _coup_ ; could you or father really have been _seen_ to help, Orcinus?” He snarled the words, eyed his older brother, willed him to understand the seriousness of what they’d done. “Don Vongola is senile and Xanxus’s brothers unfit.”

“Mmmm. You’d be surprised what we _could_ have done. Not that we can act now, little brother. We had plans, Squalo; but we were laying the groundwork, and it’s just as well we did. It’s what saved your neck. We behave, you survive; you survive, the Alliance stays intact. Play nice and clean house, baby brother. We’ll get your Sky back; he’s the only one _I’ll_ kneel for. He leads the Alliance, little brother, or we walk.” If he wasn’t flat on his back, his gut healing, the inside of his head a splintered mess, he’d have stabbed his big brother somewhere non-fatal to see if his brother had Mist Flames. That had certainly been a dramatic enough statement for a Mist.

He shifted his head on his pillow, bit his lip. “You’ll need to do your research. Xanxus is frozen, but he’s not dead. Or at least not entirely dead; there are shards of ice in my head and they _hurt_ , Orcinus.”

“Sounds familiar. Now, hold still, brat.” A hand covered in Rain Flames strokes his cheek gently; his mind stills, the splintered mess inside his head stops hurting as much. “Your Sky needs you to keep things together, Squalo; don’t do anything stupid. Now sleep, idiot. I’ll be here when you wake; it seems I have some Rain tricks to teach you.”

His brother is there when he wakes, and he feels somewhat more level headed, though he twitched at the sight of his older brother discussing things with Lussuria while the strange Sun sleeps folded over at a desk. His movement has both of them turning to him. “You evaded my question about the Cloud Flames, brat.”

“Donna Daniela figured it out. M’a Rain-Cloud with a bit of Mist. She baited me into figuring that out, and bonding with Xanxus.” His brother shook his head in amusement.

“I do need to know why you butchered Enrico, little brother. That was brutal even for you.” His brother’s voice had turned serious.

“Incestuous fucker got what he deserved. Wanted to fuck me and my Sky; I broke into his bedroom, armed, and he thought I was there to join him and his Guardians in bed. I think that was the thirteenth or fourteenth invitation.” He spat the answer, flashing back to the moment, and the suggestion that his Sky would be very pretty tied up with two cocks in his ass and one in his throat.

His brother winced. “You stabbed Massimo, too, a few weeks back. Same reason?” He nodded. “And that’s why you warned off the brat pack, wasn’t it?”

“You can’t make an issue of this, Orcinus. The Ninth has Xanxus frozen in the Cradle. I can’t risk my Sky. I can’t.” He finds himself sobbing in frustration, in pain, and at the way his mind is splintering into pieces again.

“Shhh. We won’t risk your Sky, Squalo. But we need to keep the brat pack and the others safe from them.” His big brother is sat by his bed again, Rain Flames radiating from the hand on his forehead. The splinters stop hurting again. “I’ll leave you notes on what I’m doing to ease your head, brat."

He shuts his eyes, and ignores his brother. “Get my Sky killed, and I will _never_ forgive you if I survive his death, Orcinus.”

When he opens them again, his brother is gone, but there’s a Superbi ring on the chair by his bed, a sheaf of paper threaded through it and a note on a separate piece of paper that reads ‘Wear the Ring, brat. The Ninth needs a reminder that he risks War if he kills you.’

The Rain trick helps, but consumes most of his Flames. It’s hard work; without Xanxus to balance their ‘system’, Mammon’s Curse seeps into the rest of their bodies, warping their Flames. The ice that their Sky is frozen in makes everything so cold that it numbs _everything_ ; Orcinus checks in every so often, but the time passes quickly, in a blur of swords and assassinations and trying desperately to keep a leash on his fellow Guardians and humiliation as the Ninth makes him beg for his Sky back and then _refuses_.


End file.
